Let me make this clear, NO this is NOT a cry for help. I just like planning. That includes talking about and planning for my inevitable trip to that great cat cafe in the sky (hey, you have your version of heaven, let me have mine!).

If you’re tasked with planning my funeral, that sucks. It must be like planning a wedding but worse because of all the sad and awful. Sorry you got stuck with the short end of the stick, m’dear. Here, this should make it easier(ish) for you. I present you with my LAST Buzzfeed article, How to Plan My Funeral in 13 Easy Steps:

No one is allowed to wear black. (Well, my mom can wear whatever she wants because she definitely took one for the team popping me out. But, other than that, no exceptions!) My peeps should wear only bright colors or the weirdest clothes (feather boas, fake fur, tutus). Think Burning Man meets Candy Land. Sequins are also very much appreciated.

Please play ’80s and/or ’90s music. If anyone even THINKS about a pipe organ, I’ll know, and I’ll haunt them.

Y’all are welcome to tell stories about how great I was (or wasn’t. I don’t know what old me is all about, but I’m sure she can be a jerkface sometimes!) but there’s no pressure. Short and sweet is just fine.

Everyone gets a goody bag upon leaving. It will include Journeys Greatest Hits and a unicycle (or something quirky like a taxidermy kit). You can decide.

There should be condoms with funny slogans on them for free in the bathroom. I hope this will scandalize half the attendees and encourage the other half to have safe sex.

I don’t plan on having an open bar at my wedding, but y’all, seriously, if I’m dead, please feel free to use my money to get plastered at my funeral. All I ask is that everyone takes Uber home and that drinks include: Dark and Stormies, Amaretto Sours, Russian Mules and Piña Coladas. There must also be a frozen margarita machine. That last one is non-negotiable.

There should also be cake. REALLY GOOD CAKE. And vegan and gluten-free options. Be considerate, funeral planner!

Someone has to give a PSA about menstrual cups, IUDs, male birth control (because that shit should be a THING by the time I die!) and the benefits of going braless. If you’d like to throw in some talk about how to be a good ally/not a sexist asshole, that’d be cool, too.

I really don’t want a tombstone ’cause I’d like my organs to go to people in need and my body to be donated to SCIENCE! But, if it’ll make the family happy, please turn the tombstone into a stone bench and table. I’m going for a picnic table vibe. And you must picnic on said table. Preferably on Dia de Los Muertos. Please have something odd and unsettling inscribed on the table along with my name, date of birth/death. If it turns out I can’t haunt people specifically, I want the table to do the job en masse.

No flowers. My Significant Other is allergic, and the poor guy is going to be having a rough go of it anyway without having to deal with coughing and sneezing. Instead of all that, everyone should donate money to Planned Parenthood or (here’s looking at you, conservative family members) the ACLU. C’mon, I’m dead, just do me this last kindness, yeah? It won’t KILL you! (Just a little gallows humor from the grave.)

My obituary should be exceptionally well written considering I have about a billion writer friends so NO PRESSURE. Please make sure all or at least some of it is in haiku format. Thanks.

To end the funeral, please read this poem. Then, everyone must sing Bohemian Rhapsody with as much emotion as possible, preferably out of key.

And, finally, if you wanted to rent a dinosaur bouncy house and offer childcare for funeral attendees, I’ll put in a good word for you with whomever is in charge of this whole “life” thing. I know all of you, and y’all could use the bump in karma points! Think about it.

If you don't speak Spanish, "Los Patiperros" is a slang term for globetrotters. It literally translates to wandering the streets like a dog. If you do speak Spanish—I'm sorry.
Ninety-five percent of these posts are true. Five percent are a wonderful exaggeration.
By Mollie Bloudoff-Indelicato. I used to live in Lima, Peru. I've visited every state in the U.S., and I've been to ALL SEVEN CONTINENTS! For now, I call Washington, D.C. home base.